


On The Edge For You

by turps



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Clint getting chased down, Hurt Clint Barton, M/M, Messed in the head Bucky, Steve only has a few lines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 11:31:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17959676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turps/pseuds/turps
Summary: After a head injury, Bucky kidnaps Clint, stalks him through a forest and punches him in the face - twice.





	On The Edge For You

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the h/c bingo February Amnesty Mini-Challenge.
> 
> My prompts were: Stalking, Kidnapping, Attempted suicide attempt and I went for the wildcard of bruises.
> 
> I know suicide can be a trigger, so more extensive notes about the content of the story are in the end notes.

“What do you mean he’s gone missing?”

Normally, Clint tries to avoid post-mission debriefs. They tend towards the boring, and Clint would prefer not to stand around discussing events he’ll just have to write up anyway. But now, he needs to know what’s got Cap sounding like _that_.

“Five minutes ago he was unconscious, and now you’re saying he’s gone.”

Steve sounds concerned and pissed off, and Clint would hate to be the med tech that’s the focus of his anger.

“I only turned away for a second,” the tech says, chin up and gaze steady despite the way Steve’s staring her down. “Barnes was showing no signs of awareness and I thought….”

“Well, you thought wrong,” Steve cuts in, then pulls in a breath, his shoulders relaxing a little as he adds. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. It’s not your fault.”

Technically, it is, but no one’s pointing that out as the tech nods sharply, posture stiff as Steve pats her shoulder and then turns toward Clint.

“I’ll start looking for him.” Clint pushes back his own concern, and doesn’t offer platitudes like, don’t worry, we’ll find him; just looks around, debating where to start his search. “He’s just been pulled out from under a building, he can’t have gone far.”

Steve nods, his attention already elsewhere. “Okay, if you see him….”

“You’ll be the first to know,” Clint promises, deciding that, considering they’re standing between two apartment blocks, both amazingly intact, the most efficient way to search is to go up. Decision made, Clint makes to the left, telling himself Bucky will be okay, he’ll be _fine_. 

Bow secure on his back, it takes a matter of seconds before he’s jumped from a dumpster and is climbing the fire escape, his footsteps soft as he glances into each window he passes. Not that he expects Bucky to be in an apartment, but even so, it’s always best to check. 

Half way and Clint stops, metal railings digging into his stomach as he leans out over the escape, looking at the street down below. In the near distance, he can see Steve talking to Natasha, while high overhead Tony is a solid shape of red and yellow, apparently scanning the area. 

Which, as finding techniques go, will be quicker than searching by eye, but still, Clint keeps looking.

Collapsed building aside, there’s nothing out of the ordinary, so Clint starts climbing again, always listening and looking around as he goes higher. Down below there’s still no sign of Bucky, and Tony’s apparently widening his search parameters, little more than a blurred streak in the distance. 

“Any sign?” 

Over the comms, Steve sounds cool, but there’s worry hidden behind his clipped tones as Clint adds to the chorus of ‘nos’.

“Nothing yet.” There’s only one flight of stairs left until roof level, and Clint speeds up when he hears a soft thud. “Hold on, there’s something on the roof. It could be a cat or pigeon or something but….”

It’s not a cat.

Or a pigeon.

As Clint climbs onto the roof the last thing he sees is a metal fist coming straight for his face.

~*~*~*~

“Tell me again what you’re doing.” His arms tied behind his back and ankles circled with tightly knotted bandages, Clint’s sprawled along the backseat of a car. Wiggling, he pushes himself up on his elbow so he’s half propped on his side and able to see Bucky. “Because whatever it is is bullshit. You didn’t have to knock me out.” Or haul Clint around, which sucked, especially when Clint woke up upside down and draped over Bucky’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “I would have gone with you without the physical violence.”

“No you wouldn’t,” Bucky states, never looking back, intent only on driving.

“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?” Frustrated, Clint kicks at the back of Bucky’s seat, taking satisfaction at the dull thump. “After throwing me in the back of some random car and tying me up with bandages. And what the hell’s up with that? Have you turned into some bandage stealing klepto with a sideline of kidnapping?”

Clint really hopes Bucky’s got some kind of logical answer, like a prank or surprise party -- though truthfully, Bucky’s present behaviour suggests neither at the moment.

“If you’re still sore about the pizza thing I told you I’d buy you more, or order it on Tony’s account, but you still can’t blame me, you told me what's yours is mine.” Clint waits a moment then kicks the seat again, Bucky making no indication that he’s heard Clint at all. “Seriously, are you even listening?”

Bucky scrubs his hand across his forehead and eyes, squinting a little when he drops his arm. “No.”

“No what? That you’re not listening or that it’s about the pizza thing?” Clint crunches up, precariously balanced as he tries to see more of Bucky’s face -- which right now is discoloured by a purple/yellow bruise that spreads from his temple and down to his jaw. “Because one, rude, two, it’s your fault, you know sex makes me hungry.”

Bucky keeps looking forward, and then says, “Not listening.”

“Except you are or you wouldn’t have replied,” Clint points out, and normally Bucky would sigh or roll his eyes, but right now there’s nothing. Just a blankness that’s unsettling to see, and a blankness that prompts stark memories of Bucky’s first weeks in the tower.

As soon as those memories return, Clint feels unsettled, the situation starting to make some horrible sense. Hoping that he’s wrong, and never looking away from Bucky’s face, Clint says, “You know who you are, right?”

And knows that he’s in trouble when Bucky doesn’t reply at all.

~*~*~*~

“I’m perfectly capable of walking,” Clint points out, his voice muffled by the fact he’s presently upside down again, his face pressed against Bucky’s lower back. As positions go it’s undignified, and the further they head into the forest, the more Clint knows at some point he’ll have to attempt an escape. “If you put me down I’ll walk beside you. Or hop if you don’t want to untie my legs.”

“You need to shut up,” Bucky says, and emphasises his point by squeezing his arm over Clint’s legs. Which is both painful and unnerving when Clint’s got no idea if he’s with Bucky, the Winter Soldier, or someone in-between. 

“Shutting up.” Clint would mime zipping his lips, but there’s no point, it’s not like Bucky would see. Truthfully, he’s fine with having a moment to think, something that’s difficult when his head is pounding and his ears hot and scratched feeling, as if his comms have been carelessly pulled out of place. Which will make it harder to track them down, but even so, right now Clint isn’t that worried and knows they will be found, it’s just a case of when. 

Looking around, Clint takes in their surroundings, which consists of trees -- and more trees, and even more trees after that. Which is great, Clint likes trees, he just needs to get away from Bucky first. That or get through to him and discover what’s going on, which isn’t going to happen when Clint’s silent.

“Do you even know where you’re going?” Clint asks, sure they’ve been walking in circles. “Because I’m not telling you how to do your kidnapping job, but we passed that rock five minutes ago.”

Bucky squeezes his arms, just enough to hurt Clint’s legs but not bruise. “I’m not kidnapping you.”

“The fact you knocked me out, shoved me in the back of a car for hours and are carrying me now suggests otherwise,” Clint says, wiggling a little as he tests Bucky’s hold. “But if this isn’t a kidnapping you need to up your game in terms of a date. The caveman thing isn’t one of my kinks.”

“Not a date either,” Bucky says, and normally that denial would come along with a roll of his eyes and a half-hidden smile, but this time; Clint’s stomach clenches when Bucky adds, “I’m going to kill you.”

“You’re what?” Clint’s been willing to be passive since he woke up, not making any real attempts to get away while he’s trying to understand what’s going on: but now. Tensing his body, Clint puts all his effort into rolling to one side, legs kicking and using his shoulder to push against Bucky’s back. It’s a move that relies on surprise, and Clint knows he’s got all of a few moments when he hits the ground hard, twigs scratching against his face as he rolls, trying to dislodge the bandages wrapped around his ankles.

Thankfully, after hours of minutely working them loose in the back of the car, it doesn’t take long to kick them free. Bandages uncoiling to the ground, Clint jumps to his feet, frantically trying to free his hands as he backs away from Bucky. “What do you mean you’re going to kill me? If it’s still the pizza…”

“It’s not.” Bucky’s frozen in place, staring at Clint. “My mission is to assassinate an Avenger. You’re an Avenger. So I’m going to kill you.”

“You don’t do that anymore,” Clint says, keeping his voice soft, trying for soothing. “You haven’t for a long time. We’re friends, remember. More than friends. You don’t kill your friends.”

Bucky shakes his head, and for a moment Clint thinks he’s getting through, that whatever’s scrambled Bucky’s head is losing its grip.

“I don’t have friends.”

Bucky sounds cold, shut down in a way that means Clint knows he needs to move -- now. But he can’t, not until he has one last attempt to make Bucky see reason, “Bucky, listen, you don’t have to do this.”

“I don’t know who that is,” Bucky says.

And Clint runs.

~*~*~*~

Usually Clint likes forests. The trees soothe him, with their branches made for climbing, enabling him to stay high and hidden if needed. Right now though, he hates them for blocking his way. Sweat trickling down the side of his face, Clint keeps running, ducking to avoid low branches and jumping over mossy fallen boughs. All the time he’s working on untying his hands, but the bandages are tight, enough that Clint makes a mental note to congratulate Bucky on his knot skills. That is, if Clint manages to stay alive. The odds of which are sinking right now, when Clint can hear Bucky in pursuit behind him.

“Seriously, man, did you tie these with glue?” Clint mutters, his wrists and shoulders burning as he keeps tugging, using every rope escape trick he knows. Confident he will eventually get free, Clint’s still aware that it’s taking too long, and that while Bucky isn’t visibly carrying a gun or knife, that doesn’t mean he hasn’t got them. Back prickling, Clint expects to hear the sound of a gunshot at any moment, and wouldn’t that be his luck: shot in the back and killed by his own boyfriend.

Which would suck, not just for Clint and the whole being dead thing, but Bucky too, when he comes back to himself. Which Clint’s sure that he will. It’s just a case of waiting, and Clint not getting killed first.

Tensing and relaxing the muscles in his arms, Clint finally feels a slight loosening in the knots. Encouraged, he tugs again, barely keeping his balance when he jumps over a fallen tree -- and instantly sees he’s made a mistake.

Behind the tree the ground slopes steeply, and Clint tries to relax, knowing this is going to hurt. It does. With no way of breaking his fall, Clint hits the ground hard and gathers momentum, tumbling down and occasionally thrown in a new direction when he hits tree trunks and on one occasion, a half-hidden stump.

It feels like Clint’s been falling forever when finally, he hits level ground and rolls to a stop. Pain immediate and dizzy in a way that’s making him feel sick, Clint pulls in a deep breath and tries not to throw up.

All he wants is to lie still, maybe moan a little and curse his life, but he can’t. Biting his lip, Clint rocks onto his side, tucking up his knees and ignoring the way every inch of his body hurts as he looks up, trying to see Bucky.

He’s nowhere in sight. All Clint can see are trees, some smaller saplings snapped in half now, and high up above, the dark shape that’s the felled tree Clint jumped over. Which means Bucky has to be close-by, and Clint needs to get moving. Steeling himself, he wiggles, muscles protesting and blood making his skin slippery as he forces his bound hands under his body. It’s a move that usually takes seconds, but this time takes much longer, Clint aware of every sound as he finally manages to get his hands in front of him, and quickly uses his teeth to fully pull off the bandages that had circled his wrists.

His hands free, Clint winces, taking in the raw skin as he tentatively flexes his fingers, relieved when they all move.

“One plus point for Barton,” Clint says softly, pushing himself to his feet, swaying as he steadies himself and looks around. Trees in every direction, huge and solid, all begging to be climbed, but not yet. As much as Clint knows his best chance is to go high and hide if he does that now he’ll be a sitting duck. He needs to get some distance between him and Bucky, and that means Clint needs to get moving.

“Run and I’ll hunt you down.”

The shout comes from above, accompanied by the sound of breaking twigs and small rocks bouncing down the slope. Instantly Clint starts to run, ignoring how his whole body aches as he powers forward, ducking under low-hanging branches and desperately wishing he was holding his bow. Not that he’d actually shoot Bucky, well maybe a flesh shot to the leg, just enough to slow him down.

“You won’t get away.”

Panting for breath, Clint takes a moment to look over his shoulder, increasing his speed when he sees Bucky not far away. It’s going to be a matter of seconds before he’s caught up, and Clint is left with one last desperate chance. 

Freezing in place, he scoops up a hefty fallen branch at his feet and brings it to shoulder height, preparing to swing.

“That won’t hurt me.” Bucky comes to a stop and doesn’t appear winded at all. He looks Clint up and down and shakes his head as if Clint stopping to fight is nothing but a minor irritation. “I will kill you.”

“No you won’t.” Clint has to hope that it’s true and that somewhere, buried deep down, Bucky’s still there. It’s a chance based on desperation, but at the same time, Clint justifies to himself that The Winter Soldier wouldn’t have announced his presence or even allowed a chance to escape. “I know you’re in there, Bucky.”

“You’re mistaken.” Bucky -- the Winter Soldier-- stares directly at Clint, eyes narrowing as he takes in the branch. “You’re an Avenger.”

“So are you,” Clint says, and then, unable to stop talking. “Well, mostly. Officially maybe not yet but to us, yeah. I mean, you live with us, do missions with us. I keep finding your stupid hair ties in the bathroom, and what’s up with that? Do you have an endless supply of the things? They’re everywhere.”

“Do you ever shut up?” Bucky blinks hard and rubs his hand over his face. His flesh hand, the other still clenched in a fist. “You’re making my head ache.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time you’ve said that,” Clint admits, clutching the branch as Bucky takes a step forward. “You don’t want to do this. Bucky, please. Listen to me, you’re not that person any more.”

For a moment, Clint thinks he’s managed to get through, that Bucky’s starting to remember who he actually is. Then realises he’s made a horrible mistake.

“You’re an Avenger,” Bucky says, swatting the branch to one side as Clint takes a wild swing. “You need to die.”

And for the second time that day, Clint sees a metal fist flying right at his face.

~*~*~*~

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

Coming back to consciousness sucks. Clint’s head is pounding and when he tries to open his eyes one remains stubbornly closed. Squinting, he tries to see where he is and quickly realises he’s being carried again, but this time not over Bucky’s shoulder.

In fact, Clint’s cradled against Bucky’s chest, his legs and one arm swaying. It seems they’re still in the forest and Clint’s half expecting to be thrown into a precisely dug grave, but all Bucky does is keep walking -- and talking, his words so low that Clint’s struggling to hear.

“If I could change things I would. I can’t be trusted. This has to end.”

Clint tries to speak, but his lip is swollen and his tongue feels too big for his mouth. Frustrated, he tries to kick his legs, anything to indicate he’s conscious, but Bucky’s too far gone in his own misery to take notice. 

“How am I supposed to go back? I can’t go back. Not without you.”

Clint swallows, tasting blood and what he hopes isn’t fragments of tooth.

“I’ve hurt too many people. This has to end now.”

At those words, Bucky gently sets Clint down, lying him on the ground before kneeling, his thigh against Clint’s side. Then, in a smooth sudden move, Bucky takes a gun from behind his back and points it at his own head.

“Bucky, no!” It turns out seeing someone you love put a gun to their head is a good motivator to move, even if every part of your body hurts when you do so. Clint swallows again, his voice scratchy as he pushes himself semi-upright and grabs for the gun. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Clint?” Bucky’s finger is on the trigger, but at least he’s stopped moving, is staring at Clint as if he’s seeing some kind of ghost. “You’re alive? I thought I’d killed you. You weren’t breathing.”

“You need to look closer because obviously, I was.” Clint’s got his hand wrapped around Bucky’s wrist, concerned, but also angry that Bucky would even think about doing something so stupid. “And even if I wasn’t, you don’t get to kill yourself.”

“Someone would have done it anyway,” Bucky points out, resisting when Clint pulls at his arm. “I’m just doing it for them, save them the trouble.”

“Save them the trouble of killing you?” Clint’s really not in the mood for involved emotional conversations, but Bucky’s still making no attempt to put down the gun. “Because you offing yourself will make them feel better? This has to be the head injury talking because you’re not normally so stupid.”

“I brought you to a forest and threatened to kill you,” Bucky says, his words flat, no trace of emotion apparent. “Then actually tried to kill you.”

“No, the Winter Soldier did that.” Still clutching at Bucky’s arm, Clint drags himself to his knees, ensuring he wavers just enough that Bucky reaches out to steady Clint with his free hand. “Not you. You were confused, but still in there, if you weren’t I’d have been shot on that roof.”

“That’s not an excuse.” Frustration bleeds through as Bucky stares at Clint, the gun minutely shaking. “Deep down I’ll always be the Winter Soldier, and if this happens again, next time I could kill someone. I can’t take that chance.”

“But you won’t, you didn’t this time,” Clint says, shifting so he’s leaning more of his weight against Bucky. “I know your head must be scrambled so I’ll give you some slack. But, Bucky? This isn’t you.”

“How do you know that?” Bucky says, and outwardly appears perfectly calm, unnaturally so as he keeps talking. “How do you know the person I’ve been wasn’t a lie? I could have been planning to kill you all of this time, the head injury just brought it out.”

“You could have been,” Clint allows, and more than anything wishes he was elsewhere for a conversation like this, not kneeling on the damp ground, a stick jabbing into his shin and feeling like his head is about to fall off his neck. “But I doubt it, for one thing, why would you be planning to kill me? I’m not exactly the most important Avenger. Now, Tony I could see, or Steve. I’d even believe Natasha, but me? I don’t buy it.”

“Don’t say that.” Bucky squeezes Clint gently, and then says, “You’re just as important as them and worth killing.”

“Well you’re sweet to say so,” Clint says, and as fucked up as this situation is, he’s having to fight the urge to smile at such a strange compliment. “But we’re not talking about bolstering my self-esteem, which is fine by the way. Well, apart from the fact you’ve spent all of today carrying me around and punched me in the face.”

“Twice,” Bucky adds, and then laughs, low and bitter as he lowers the gun and sets it on the ground. “What the hell am I doing?”

Relief hits hard, enough Clint’s glad of Bucky holding him steady in place. Even so, he reaches down for the gun, grabbing it and throwing it further away. 

“I could get that in an instant,” Bucky points out, but he’s making no attempt to move, just remains still, arm around Clint’s shoulders, holding him in place. “And you didn’t check the safety. It could have gone off and shot you.”

“Are you for real?” Clint stares at Bucky, because _seriously_ after everything they’ve just been through he’s said that. “You were going to shoot yourself, and you’re worried about the safety?”

“You should always look after your weapon,” Bucky says, as if reading aloud from some firearm handbook, but then, his shoulders slump and he adds, quieter, “I thought I’d killed you.”

“But you didn’t,” Clint says, and again, as he turns slightly, reaching up with one hand so he can cup Bucky’s face. “You wouldn’t.”

“You can’t know that,” Bucky says, and brings his own hand over Clint’s, metal over flesh. “No one can know that.”

Which technically is true. No one knows exactly what’s buried deep in Bucky’s head, but in this case, technical facts don’t matter. Clint knows Bucky, the Bucky who loves video games and stealing clothes, thinks man buns are a valid fashion statement and loves the simple things in life like walks in park and holding Clint’s coffee when he goes off to pet dogs. Those are the things that matter, and Clint simply says, “ _I_ know that.”

For a long time Bucky says nothing, just closes his eyes and pulls in a breath, his hand still over Clint’s. “You’re an idiot, but thank you.”

“Again, that won’t be the first time someone has said that,” Clint says, and smiles, feeling the scab that’s forming on his lip crack open. “Won’t be the last either.”

“Probably not,” Bucky agrees, and leans in, pressing a gentle kiss over Clint’s mouth. “We should go back. They’ll be looking for us.”

“Do I get to sit in the front seat of the car this time?” Clint asks, enjoying the way Bucky rolls his eyes in response to the question. “If so, more than ready.”

Bucky stands, holding out his hand to help Clint to his feet. “I suppose you can stay up front, but I pick the music.”

“Not going to happen.” Clint takes a step forward, hissing out a breath when his whole body protests the movement. “It’s fine, just cuts and bruises. Nothing broken.”

And it’s true, there’s nothing broken, physically anyway. Mentally isn’t so straightforward, but they’ll get through that together. No doubt with a lot of not-talking and picking at memories during the dead of the night, but they will get there, and this will eventually become another story to recount in the future.

Until then, Clint’s content to lean against Bucky, as together, they head toward home.

**Author's Note:**

> In the story Bucky has a head injury that means he's caught between some form of The Winter Soldier and himself. He kidnaps Clint but Clint escapes only to be captured again, at which point Bucky punches him in the face.
> 
> Thinking he's killed Clint, and still messed in the head, Bucky puts a gun to his own head thinking he'd be better off dead. 
> 
> Clint isn't dead, and after some talking, Bucky doesn't pull the trigger. 
> 
> The story ends with them both physically okay.


End file.
